I Possess the SSS Skill: Future Sight-Chapter 48: Sample 894

— Kyle Valter’s POV —

The white door closed behind me.

It wasn’t just a normal closing sound; there was a deep mechanical click, followed by a very low hum—like the activation of a high-rank Eitra suppression barrier. The air in the sterile white room completely stilled.

I stood in the middle of the room, feigning a cough and clutching my chest, while the doctor with silver glasses and dead eyes walked slowly toward his desk.

"Please sit on the examination bed, Mr. Noah," the doctor said in a soft, monotone voice devoid of any human tone. He didn’t look at me, instead typing something on his electronic tablet.

"We will conduct a deep scan of your Eitra pathways to determine the cause of your pain."

I moved slowly and sat on the edge of the medical bed, padded with cold white leather.

Alright... I thought to myself, preparing to use [Shadow Rend] at any fraction of a second.

If he tries to inject me with anything, I’ll slice his shadow and crush him until he spills everything about this hospital.

The doctor approached me.

In his hand was a silver device resembling a scanner, but at its tip was an extremely thin needle pulsing with a sickly yellow light.

"Relax completely," he said, raising the device toward my neck.

At that moment, I decided to act.

I wouldn’t let him touch me. I focused my Eitra into my eyes, stared at his shadow stretching across the white floor, and raised my right hand to summon the Forgotten Blade.

But... nothing happened.

"Huh?"

I tried to push Eitra through my veins, but my energy pathways were... dead. Completely empty.

As if I had never awakened.

As if I were nothing but an ordinary human drained of every drop of Eitra.

My crimson eyes widened in genuine terror.

I tried to jump off the bed, but before I could move even an inch—

Clank! Craaash!

From within the medical bed itself, four black metallic restraints shot out—thick as robotic arms.

They lunged at my wrists and ankles at supersonic speed, pinning me down with crushing force against the bed.

The metal was cold, overwhelmingly powerful, crushing my bones and preventing me from moving even a single finger.

"What is this?! Stay away from me!" I shouted, abandoning the act of a patient, twisting with all my strength—but the restraints didn’t budge a millimeter.

The doctor wasn’t surprised. His dead expression didn’t change.

He looked down at me and adjusted his silver glasses with his finger.

"Resistance is futile, Sample Number 894," he said in a mechanical tone, as if reading from a manual.

"The entire room is an absolute Eitra suppression field. Even if you were Rank A, you wouldn’t be able to ignite a single spark here. Your body is now nothing but flesh and blood. Which is exactly what we need."

"Sample?! I’m a patient! Let me go!" I roared, saliva flying from my mouth.

But the doctor drove the yellow needle brutally into the side of my neck.

It wasn’t an anesthetic.

It was liquid fire.

I felt a corrosive substance surge through my veins, boiling my blood, paralyzing my motor nerves while keeping my pain receptors at maximum sensitivity.

I wanted to scream—but my jaw locked completely, and my tongue swelled until it nearly blocked my throat.

"Transferring to the slaughter floor," the doctor said coldly, pressing a hidden red button beneath the edge of his desk.

The floor beneath me... split open.

I wasn’t in a room—I was inside a massive hidden hydraulic elevator.

The entire medical bed, along with part of the room, began descending at a terrifying speed.

The sterile white walls faded upward, replaced by pitch darkness... then flickering red light.

The temperature rose violently. The air became heavy, viscous, saturated with a stench that made my stomach churn:

rusted iron, rotting flesh, sulfur, and sharp chemical gases burning my sinuses.

I was falling into the darkness, eyes wide open, unable to move, unable to scream—listening only to the grinding of metal around the elevator.

Then the descent stopped with a violent jolt that made my teeth slam together.

The rusted metal doors opened slowly, releasing a nerve-tearing screech.

What I saw...

It wasn’t a hospital.

It wasn’t a secret basement.

It was a physical manifestation of the underworld.

I found myself in a colossal hall, its ceiling lost in dense darkness.

The walls weren’t concrete—they were covered in pulsating red organic tissue, massive black veins like sewage pipes pumping yellow and green fluids through the walls, feeding this nightmarish place.

On both sides of the wide pathway—along which my bed was being carried by mechanical arms from the ceiling—stood hundreds... no, thousands of massive glass cylinders.

Inside each cylinder... was an experiment.

Not ordinary human experiments.

Abominations beyond the limits of horror.

I saw a man whose lower half had been fused with the entrails of a giant spider. He floated in green liquid, his face twisted in an eternal scream as the spider’s organs devoured his body from the inside, regenerating it endlessly.

I saw women whose skin had been completely stripped away, their exposed muscles stitched with copper wires infused with Eitra, twitching like flayed worms.

I saw children... dear God, the children.

They were fused together—three or four children sewn into a single mass of limbs and heads, crying in overlapping voices like dying cats.

The sound in that hall was a symphony of pure suffering.

Muffled groans, hysterical screams, the cracking of bones being broken and reset, and the buzzing of mechanical saws operating in shadowed corners.

The bed I was bound to moved automatically toward the center of the hall—to the only point of light.

"No... no... please..." I whispered in my mind, my eyes flooding with tears from the chemical gases and from a raw terror that shattered every layer of the Black Joker persona I had built.

I was once again that child in the "Dawn Hope" orphanage.

But the horror here was a million times worse.

The bed stopped beneath an enormous surgical light—blinding, pure white.

At the center of that illuminated circle, the floor was entirely covered with metal drainage grates, thickly coated with congealed blood and pus.

Around me, rusted mechanical arms hung from the ceiling—ending in massive scalpels, circular saws dripping blood and acid, and huge syringes filled with boiling black liquid.

From the shadows... something stepped forward.

It wasn’t the doctor.

It was a being wearing a heavy black leather apron, layered with thick stains of dried and fresh blood and human fat.

It was enormous—nearly three meters tall.

It had no face—its head was covered with a filthy burlap sack, with only a single hole from which one red eye protruded—wide and hungry.

In its right hand, it held a massive cleaver nearly two meters long.

In its left, it dragged an iron chain ending in rusted hooks.

"A new sample... yes... very fresh," the butcher spoke in a voice like grinding volcanic rock, viscous saliva dripping from beneath the sack onto my bare chest.

"Let us see how his weak Eitra pathways endure, Voiders’ parasite," said another voice—a cold female voice coming from speakers in the ceiling.

A voice identical to Madam Grace, the orphanage director... but more distorted, more mechanical.